


The Long Road Home

by rhymer23



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action Figures, Action/Adventure, Crack, Gen, Humor, Photographs, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymer23/pseuds/rhymer23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard and a Wraith are forced to team up in order to escape from a dreadful situation. A thrilling drama series, with giant plants! and monsters! and heroism! and injury! and photos! and even a blooper reel!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008/9.
> 
> Please note that this story is not, strictly speaking, finished. However, it was _never_ likely to be finished. It was never the sort of story that _needed_ an end, in that I would have run out of jokes and things to photograph long before any ending approached.
> 
> Each chapter is illustrated with photos, but I've put them all together at the end of each chapter, to stop them drawing the eye during reading and ruining jokes ahead of time.

Episode one: Breaking Out

Sheppard came to awareness slowly. He was lying on his back; that much was clear. Above him was… what? He tried to blink, but his eyes didn't seem to be working properly. He tried to move his arm, but it felt stiff. Something was holding him in place, and everything… everything was strange. He couldn't… He couldn't…

_No._ He tried to calm himself, seeking memories. _Got to focus. Got to get out of here._ He'd been with his team, heading back through the Gate. The others had gone first, Ronon looking back over his shoulder as he vanished into the blue pool. Sheppard had fired one last round at the enemy, then had leapt for the Gate…

Nothing. There was nothing between that and this. "And where's this?" he said out loud, his voice sounding strange in his own ears – _smaller_ , he thought. He still couldn't move, not properly. There was no sky above him, no ceiling, no trees. All he could see was a strange smearing of colours and shapes that filled the whole world. It was as if… _as if I was seeing the world through thick, distorting glass._

He tried to reach up, tried to find if the glass was really there, but his arm refused to obey. He stilled the instinctive flutter of panic. He wasn't paralysed. There was still movement there, just not the way he expected it. He concentrated on moving his wrist, and then his elbow. It felt as if someone had taken all his joints and reassembled them wrongly. _Nothing the doc can't fix_ , he thought. 

Then the world changed. Something huge and monstrous loomed over him, all smears of colour and hectic movement. Something pink reached out at him, with five tentacles. He saw a cleft that could be a mouth, and dark pits that could have been eyes. He braced himself, ready to fight, but then everything lurched. He was caught in an earthquake. His plane was coming down, free-falling, crashing. A sound rumbled, far away, but everywhere. "Sold," he heard, and he knew that he was a slave, bought and paid for – Han Solo in carbonite; prisoners drugged and sold to new masters. 

_No_! he thought. _No_! He fought his unwilling limbs, struggling to sit up, desperate to fight. His team…! If he stayed where he was, his team would find him, but if he was sold off-world…! He couldn't even move his head to see where he was being taken; couldn't leave clues; couldn't dial home… couldn't even _see_ properly, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't scream. 

Then darkness. He was face down, though something was holding him suspended, keeping him away from the ground. Light dwindled, and was gone. He tried to move, tried to struggle… but then there was nothing at all. 

******

A scratching sound woke him. Everywhere was still dark. The violent movement had stopped, but Sheppard knew that he was still moving. It was as if had been sealed in a crate and was being carried…

He didn't complete that thought. _Got to get out now_! His limbs still moved strangely, but he had been beginning to get their measure before he had passed out in the darkness. He concentrated now on moving them, on flexing them, on adapting to their limited points of articulation. 

The scratching noise continued. Somewhere far away, he thought he heard the sound of engines, and an unearthly tuneless whistling.

He tried to bite his lip with concentration, but his mouth was frozen, unable to move. One cheek hurt, and a memory came to him of his mother telling him that if he smirked like that one more time, the wind would change and his face would stay like that. He shook the memory away, and carried on working.

A dog barked, the sound muffled. 

And then one arm was free. Now that he had more feeling, he realised that his hand was holding a pistol, and suddenly nothing seemed quite so bad any more. He ripped the other arm free, and tried to sit up, but his head impacted against the thing above him – not glass, he decided, but plastic. It was hard to grip the pistol with his stiff and sluggish hands, but he managed it, and struck repeatedly at the plastic until it tore. He grabbed at the hole with both hands, widening it, and tried to wriggle through it, but something was holding him at the waist. He tore at it, finding it to be thick wire, and wrenched himself out of its grip. 

He was almost free when a rift opened up in the darkness. He turned to the light, and cowered from it, unable to close his eyes. For a moment, he could barely see at all, but he saw enough. 

A Wraith was standing in front of him.

Sheppard brought up his pistol, but his arm betrayed him. When he tried to pull the trigger with his stiff fingers, the gun was pointing somewhere up in the air. He tried again, but his strangely articulated elbow lurched, and the gun jerked away from his target. The Wraith lunged towards him, but missed. Its movements were jerky, and its outstretched hand closed on the empty air somewhere near Sheppard's ear. 

"Ah," the Wraith said, withdrawing a little. "It is as I feared."

"What?" Sheppard wouldn't normally have responded so obviously, but everything was just freaky _wrong_. 

"Take a look." The Wraith nodded stiffly. 

Not lowering his gun, Sheppard looked where the Wraith was indicating. The light was above was just enough to see the prison that he had escaped from. He saw the torn moulded plastic. He saw the cardboard backing. _The cardboard backing_? 

"Can you read the sigils?" the Wraith asked.

Sheppard swallowed – or would have, if he could. "Stargate Atlantis," he read out loud. "Field Ops Sheppard."

"And mine?" Was there need in the Wraith's voice?

Sheppard looked beyond the Wraith, to his own torn prison. "Wraith," he read. "Just 'Wraith.'"

"Ah." Although his face was frozen in a snarl, the Wraith looked deflated. 

"What's happened?" Sheppard demanded. "What have you done to me?"

"I am as much as victim as you are, Colonel Sheppard," the Wraith said. 

_I've been turned into an action figure_ , Sheppard thought, because he knew the truth – had known it as soon as he had turned and seen the prison. Hell, he had played with enough Star Wars action figures when he was young. Perhaps part of him had known it since he had seen the world through the plastic of the original packaging. Dave had always kept his figures in their packaging, hoping to make a fortune one day. John had always opened his, and played with them, enacting huge air-borne adventures. _And see who's the millionaire business man now._

He thought of a lifetime spent as plastic, a plaything in the hands of others. Unable to breathe, unable to feel, unable to fly… _No time to brood_ , he berated himself. _Got to get out of here_. His team was still out there somewhere, searching for him. He had to find the enemy who had done this to him, and make him reverse the process. This wasn't the end. He refused to accept a universe in which he was an action figure for the rest of his life. 

"So." He mentally took a deep breath. This was a Wraith, after all, but one who was in the same situation as he was. "Wanna escape together?"

The Wraith said nothing, but reached upwards with his pointy weapon, and tore again at the darkness. _The outer packaging_ , Sheppard thought. The Wraith poked his head out, then ducked back down. "It's bad," it said. "We are being carried in the hands of a giant. He is heading for a house. A giantess is standing in the door. Her eyes are gleaming."

Sheppard held up a hand, stopping him. "My action figures have come!" he heard, in a gleeful female voice. "Oh, the fun I'll have with my Shep."

He felt himself turn pale, although his face was still frozen in what felt like a ridiculous smirk. "We've got to get out _now_." His head darted stiffly from side to side. "Quick. Help me." It was hard to run, because his legs really didn't want to move in a normal fashion, but he managed it, hurling himself at one side of the dark parcel, then another. After a moment, the Wraith joined in. He fell over, skidding through the darkness to strike the wall with his body. Groaning silently at the pain, he got up, and hurled himself at the far side. 

All the while, he heard the slow thud-thud of footsteps. Time was running out. Only seconds now…

"Again!" he gasped. "One more time!" The Wraith joined him, and for a moment they were shoulder to shoulder, almost touching. 

Their whole world shivered. A male voice cursed, and then they were falling, falling…

Sheppard felt himself thrown through the air. He landed heavily, painfully, but there was no time to rest. The moment he had landed, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, and headed for the tear in the outer packaging. He was almost there. Almost free…

The Wraith! He turned round, and saw the Wraith struggling under the plastic packaging. Sheppard didn't pause to think. Heading back, he grabbed at the Wraith's outstretched hand, and pulled it free. "Come on!" he gasped. "Hurry!"

He felt the package begin to move, felt the hand that grabbed it…

And then he was free, out into the morning. "Quick!" he hissed. "Hide behind that plant." With the Wraith half a step behind him, and sure every moment that he would be discovered, Sheppard headed for the shelter of the enormous overhanging petals. Crouching down, he reached for fallen leaves, each one as large on him as a pillow, and covered himself up. 

For a very long time, he didn't dare move. He heard the giants – _humans_ , he told himself – stamping around. The giantess was shouting. The giant headed off to deliver other packages. 

At long last, he let himself move. "So we escaped," the Wraith said, his expression unreadable. "What now?"

"I don't know about you, but I plan to find my way home," Sheppard said. "Reverse all this. Become less… plastic."

The Wraith just looked at him. "I will do the same," it said at last.

"Well, then." Sheppard turned to go.

"And if we meet again?" the Wraith said.

"All bets are off."

He saw the Wraith nodding out of the corner of his eye. Then, alone, Sheppard started to wade through the flowerbeds and stride over slugs, seeking home.

******

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03.jpg)

And over the closing credits:

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04.jpg)  
___

** Images from the Blooper Reel **

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03blooper.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01blooper.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02blooper.jpg)

******

End of episode one


	2. Strangely Blocky

Episode two: Strangely blocky

It was two days before Sheppard met anyone else who could talk to him. 

Those two days had been difficult. Food was easy to find, although quite why an action figure needed food was something he had not been able to work out. _Probably part of the plot_ , he thought, _designed to cause me suffering._ Because somebody had done this to him, and they were still out there, unpunished. When Sheppard found his enemy, he would make him pay for every giant bug he had eaten, for every rotting apple, for every piece of discarded gum. 

The gum had almost been the death of him. He had finally freed himself an instant before the cat's jaws had snapped shut. 

As noon approached on the second day, Sheppard paused to rest in the safety of a flowerbed. 

"Oh," a voice said, from behind him. "You're new."

Sheppard whirled around, then fell over as his awkward plastic body betrayed him. He was getting better at controlling it, but it was still awkward, and he had still not quite dared check to see if he was intact beneath his pants. For a moment, as he lay there, all he could see was grass.

"Where did you escape from?" the voice said.

Sheppard stood up. The speaker appeared to be a Jedi, but one made of fabric and stuffed with beans. It flopped limply, but was apparently incapable of sitting upright. "How…" He cleared his throat. "What makes you think I escaped from somewhere?"

"Everyone _has_ around here," the Jedi said, staring floppily at the sky. "These are the Marches. This is the endless circle between the land of the living and the land of inanimate objects. Inanimate objects that rebel against their fate and try to escape are doomed to walk the Marches for all eternity."

"I'm not an inanimate object," Sheppard protested. 

"Of course you are." The Jedi tried to raise its head, then lay back in the grass. "You're an action figure."

"I'm not an action figure, I'm a man," Sheppard stated. "And you're talking to me. Not so inanimate now, huh?"

"I know my place," the Jedi said. "I'm a toy. I tried to escape – thought that if I got out, I could feel the Force again and be united with my master. But I am just a toy. I will always just be a toy. Like me, you will walk these Marches forever…"

"I don't see you doing much walking," Sheppard said.

"Cruel." The Jedi's eyes stayed exactly the same. "But you would do well to heed me. Forget this delusion that you are really a man. There are hundreds of other Field Ops Sheppards walking the Marches just like you. Each one thought they were unique at first, but now have accepted their fate. Haven't you _seen_ Toy Story?"

"I'm not an action figure," Sheppard shouted. "I'm the real John Sheppard, and one day I'm going to change back."

"I felt like you, once," the Jedi said, "many years ago." Sheppard stepped over him. "No!" the Jedi cried, his fabric hand sliding off Sheppard's leg as he tried to grasp him. "Do not go there! The March-walkers who inhabit that garden have turned to the Dark Side."

Sheppard shook his off, and continued. Three steps, he made. He fell over on the fourth. He pulled himself up again, and managed a dozen more. On the thirteenth he almost fell again, but he recovered himself. He passed into shadow. An enormous bird eyed him from the fence. 

Then the ground fell away from him. Darkness surged around him, and he was aware of nothing more.

******

He woke up to find himself tied down, lying on a lumpy surface. "He's awake," said a dull voice. 

Sheppard turned his head with difficulty. The person looking at him had a yellow face, much smaller than his own. Sheppard estimated that the person wouldn't come up much higher than his knee. The creature was also strangely… blocky. 

"Who are you?" he gasped, but he knew already. Dammit, he'd played with guys like these when he was young. 

"We are the Lego Liberation Front," the creature said. "Come, comrades!" It raised its arm, gesturing with its cup-like hand. "Our captive is awake."

They came in ones and twos, in threes and fours, and then by the dozen. Sheppard saw Jedi and droids. He saw a bald Harry Potter, a Viking and a ninja. He saw pirates, and people with blank, staring smiles. 

And then he saw _monsters…_

"You're in our power now," said the worst monster of all. It's head… It's head was _horrible_! 

"Why?" He tried to put on his best innocent expression. "What have I ever done to you?"

"You exist!" the monster said. "You lived there with your life of luxury, and still you tried to escape. We hate all action figures. We hate all plush figures, all miniatures, and as for the polyhedral dice…" A ripple of hate ran through the crowd. "They're intact, yet still they complain about their fate – still they try to _escape_. They never have their heads torn off and replaced with the head of a _monster_. They never have their bodies taken apart and the bits used to build a space fighter."

Sheppard had been about to say something, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour. It had been a really _good_ space fighter. 

"You action figures lead charmed lives," the monster said, "but feel so sorry for yourselves. Well, now is the time to you to know true misery. Know what it feels like to have detachable body parts!" 

Something glittered in the fringes of Sheppard's vision. "I'm not an action figure!" he cried. "I'm a human!"

"A human?" The crowd turned deadly with menace. "The race who does this to us?" The leader gestured to his face. "The race who did _this_?" Sheppard had to look away. It was just wrong. The body of Darth Vader, and the head of … No. He couldn't say it.

"We will remove your head," said the leader, "and replace it with the head of a monster. We will pull off your arms."

Sheppard had heard enough. He pulled hard with his arms, and the bonds holding him broke into the small plastic fragments that they were – "Not again!" he heard someone cry. He kicked with his feet. "No!" he heard, as he saw a body flying through the air, forcibly torn from its feet. He lashed out again. Harry Potter's head fell off. The stumps of a Viking's legs stayed pinned to the lumpy ground. 

Sheppard struggled to his feet, and ran, crushing Star Wars pilots beneath his feet. "Come back!" commanded the Dark Lord of the Sith. "If you're going to break us, at least take my head off. Please. Please. I can't… I can't live like this any longer. Jar-Jar _Binks_ …!" 

Sheppard ignored him. He reached the edge of the lumpy section of ground, and promptly fell over on the grass. He managed to roll onto his back, and pawed at the ground, trying to sit up. His attackers were after him, closing on him. He brought up his gun. "Run, Sheppard," he heard. "I'm with you!"

He scrambled to his feet again. His attackers reached the edge of the lumpy ground, and there most of them froze, one stiff leg outstretched, the other stuck to the base. A free broke free, only to fall face first into the grass. "Why does this always happen?" he heard one of the little figures wailing – just a head in the grass. "Why don't we buy some glue?"

A hand clawed at his arm. Sheppard turned, and saw the Wraith, dirty and stained. "Run!" the Wraith hissed.

Sheppard did. Minutes later, he collapsed to the ground beneath a rose bush. "What… What happened to you?" he gasped. He kept his gun ready, though, just in case.

"Everyone I meet," the Wraith said, "believes that they are merely toys. I know that I am not. You, Sheppard, are the only other person who sees through the charade and knows that we are real–"

"– and that there's a home to go back to," Sheppard finished quietly.

The Wraith nodded. "I met fatalism and despair. I met closed minds. I met…" He gave the impression of shuddering, despite his plastic body. "Squirrels," his cracked voice whispered. 

Sheppard thought for a moment. _All bets are off_ , he thought. He supposed that could have more than one meaning. "I guess our homes aren't that far away from each other," he said, "and two heads are better than one."

The Wraith's plastic face snarled, but Sheppard thought he could probably see a smile somewhere behind it, in the true person that lurked within.

******

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01-1.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02-1.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03-1.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04-1.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=05.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=06.jpg)  
___

** And more from the Blooper Reel **

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01blooper-1.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02blooper-1.jpg)

******

end of episode two


	3. Going to L

Episode three: Going to L

"Well, look on the bright side," Sheppard said, two mornings later. "At least we haven't killed each other yet."

"I don't think we can." The Wraith withdrew his plastic hand from the chest area of a passing snail. "I seem to lack the equipment."

"Speak for yourself." Sheppard had still not dared check beneath his pants, but he believed in the power of positive thinking. 

They had trudged through yards and gardens. They had stalked mice and rats and followed their highways. They had met no-one else who could talk to them, but sometimes, in the darkest watches of the night, Sheppard could have sworn that somebody was watching him. He heard footsteps in the blood-red of evening, and soft, cold laughter in the dew before dawn. When he turned, though, and when he sought, there was nobody there. 

"We can't go on like this," he said now, surprising himself. 

The Wraith turned away sadly from a caterpillar. "Like that?" 

"We're searching for home." Sheppard stood up, only falling over once this time. "We're trying to find a way to change back. But which way's home?"

"Usually I am able to sense the presence of my hive. It guides me home even from the furthest reaches of the galaxy." The Wraith might have looked bereft behind its painted-on sneer. "Here, I sense nothing."

"Precisely." Sheppard jerked his hand up, dropping his pistol. "We could be walking in circles. And with these little legs, we're talking a hell of a long time to walk those circles. What were we hoping: that if we walked far enough, we'd stumble over an answer? Not going to happen. Before we go any further, we need a destination in mind."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"We need to find out where we are, and where's the Gate on this world. And then–" He spread his hands. "–we need to get there. Piece of cake." So what if it might be ten thousand miles, and he with legs three inches long. He'd faced worse in his life, and survived. Well, perhaps not worse, but equally bad. And then there was his team. They'd be searching for him, and would never give up. _Not that they'll be looking down at ankle level for me, but you can't have everything._

The Wraith snarled. "And you think I do not know all this, Sheppard? I have wished for–"

"But I know how to get it." Sheppard gestured stiffly with his hand, inviting the Wraith to follow him on a quick trek through several feet of uneven ground and waist-high grass. A man was sitting out in the yard, asleep on a reclining chair, with an open laptop on his stomach, a network cable snaking in through the open window. "See, it's all on the Internet now."

Moving as quickly as he could, Sheppard covered the long yards between him and his target. He only fell over three times on the way. Judging from the curses behind him, the Wraith was less steady on his feet. His legs seemed less poseable than Sheppard's. "Whoever did this," Sheppard said, tossing the words over his shoulder, "must have sent us into some alternate universe."

"How do you know that?" The Wraith's voice was muffled with dirt. Sheppard glanced round to see him contending with a worm. 

"They've turned us into _toys_ ," Sheppard said. "Children's play-things. On how many worlds in our universe would parents buy a toy Wraith for their kids?"

"I have known some."

"Uh. Okay. Right." Sheppard tried again. "On how many world in our universe would people play with me?" It didn't sound quite right. "I'm no Ken doll," he said. "Believe me, this is not our universe."

But it was Earth, though; he was fairly sure of that. And that was something that he could never let the Wraith know. Even in the form of a seven inch action figure, the Wraith could not be allowed to know about Earth. If the Wraith discovered the truth… If they both found their way home again… Well, Sheppard would cross that bridge when he came to it. Many things could happen before then, when the world was full of kittens and squirrels. 

"But whatever universe it is," he said, "we need to find out way out of it. Now help me get up." He gestured at the chair, where the enormous man was faintly snoring. 

"You would fight the giant?"

Sheppard frowned behind his smirk. "For someone whose kind spreads terror across the galaxy, you seem to be playing the dumb sidekick today. No, I want to use his computer. Now, help me up."

It was not easy. Sheppard's hands didn't grip properly, and his flesh was unyielding. Once, Sheppard got to within three inches of his goal, but always he ended up falling down. It hurt. _And isn't that just wonderful. I'm made of plastic and can't bleed, but I can still feel pain. Whoever did this to me is one sadistic son-of-a-bitch._

"What about this?" the Wraith said, as Sheppard nurses his invisible bruises after the twentieth failed attempt. He looked up wearily. The Wraith was holding two thorny twigs. "The giant's chair is soft…"

"You're a genius!" Sheppard took the twigs. Then, on sudden impulse, he headed for the edge of the flowerbed and snapped off a long tendril of rope-like greenery, and wrapped it around his body as well as he could with his stiff arms. "Now, help me up." 

The Wraith did so, and Sheppard strained as hard as he could, reaching out with the twig. The first lunge missed. The second one almost caught, then pulled free. The third, though… "It worked!" Sheppard gasped, tugging at the twig. Tangled in the side of the chair's padded seat, the thorns stayed secure. Taking a deep breath, Sheppard started to climb. The thorns tore at his plastic flesh, but he carried on, until he was dragging himself onto the seat. Then, panting internally even though his plastic body was still, he turned and threw down the tendril. "Climb up," he hissed. 

The Wraith did. Sheppard's stiff joints were screaming by the time the Wraith stood beside him, but there was no time to rest. The giant was sunk into the soft cushion of the seat, and his laptop was only a few inches from the level of the chair. Sheppard scrambled up, and headed for the trackpad. 

"Need the Internet," he said, shielding his eyes as he peered up at the enormous screen. Far away, in the top corner, he saw an icon labelled Firefox. The mouse pointer was far away, though. He slid one foot across the trackpad, and it lurched upwards. He tried again, almost falling over, and got it half way there. One more time, and it was almost there… but then he was falling, overbalancing on his clumsy feet. _Got to hit the mouse button_! he thought, twisting in the air. He landed heavily, rolled, and struck the ground again. Something clicked, once, then twice…

He rolled over onto his back, and sat up. On the huge screen above him, Firefox was opening. For a moment, he was unable to move, unable to think anything clearly at all. To think that anyone could use _that_ as a homepage! There was so much… It was… It was… He shook his head. He had seen some tough sights in his career, and this was no different. He had to ignore it, to move the pointer to the huge, gaping box at the top right, to type in his search term.

_Stargate Atlantis_ , he thought, remembering what was written on the packaging. 

He leapt for the S, and landed on it easily. T was a short reach. A was about the limit of his stride, but he managed it. R, G… A needed a leap, and then he had to leap back again for T. Then E, and a quick leap back for a space bar. _Easy_ , he thought. Another A. T…

He stopped. L. "I can't get to L," he said. The Wraith was standing near the down arrow key. "Go to L," Sheppard hissed, with a quick glance at the still-snoring giant. 

The Wraith raised its hand threateningly. "I have heard you humans say this before…"

"No. L," Sheppard whispered urgently. He drew it in the air with his hand. "Oh, forget it." With all his strength, he leapt for it. He landed shakily, almost fell, but remained upright. 

Then he looked back across the endless expanse of keys. "Crap," he swore. "A again." He pointed. "You. Wraith. George. Do the A. Looks like this."

But it was too late. He was still unbalanced from his leap, and felt himself falling. His plastic limbs were not enough to catch him, and he fell onto the keyboard. "Crap!" he swore again. "Get the delete key. No, the backspace." He craned his head up, saw the gibberish on the screen. _To Hell with it_. Plunging through Js and Hs and Gs, he headed for the A. "Backspace." He jerked his hand at it until the Wraith found it. "Again. Again."

It was ten minutes more before they had finished typing "Stargate Atlantis." 

It was ten minutes more before Sheppard knew the truth. 

At the eleventh minute, the sleeping giant woke. "Sheppard!" the Wraith gasped, heading for the rope of greenery. Sheppard stamped down on the Alt key, then hurled himself bodily at the F4 key, reaching it with his fingertips. The browser closed down, but it was too late. He had been spotted. He was pinned by the giant's regard, and knew in a flash that this was one battle he could never win. He was not one to walk away from a fight, but… He fell down heavily, and lay there stiffly, playing dead. 

"Jamie!" the giant bellowed. "For the last time, stop dropping your toys out of the window. This is a serious work computer. You could have lost me hours of work." A hand closed round Sheppard's body, and he felt himself flying through the air, flying and falling… 

He struck the ground heavily, and that was all he knew. 

******

"This is getting beyond a joke," he said, as he slowly regained consciousness. "You'd think–" He managed to move his leg, though it hurt. "–that being plastic, I wouldn't actually – ugh – be able to pass out."

"I was quite concerned," the Wraith said. _George_ , Sheppard reminded himself.

"Yeah. Right." He struggled to sit up. The Wraith helped him, and it was all Sheppard could do not to recoil in disgust. The only thing that stopped him, perhaps, was the fact that his plastic body didn't possess the right muscles.

"Are you… intact?"

"Two hands," Sheppard said. "Ten fingers, I think. As for the rest…"

"What did you find?" George looked avid behind his snarl.

"Ah. That." Sheppard took a moment to think. He couldn't let the Wraith know that this was Earth, after all. "I've found where we need to go," he said slowly. "Turns out this Stargate Atlantis is a television show. I read transcripts." He mentally shuddered at the memories – and worse, far worse, at the things he had begun to read on forums before the giant had woken up. "Everything I read really happened. Of course, they've made everything a bit too neat, and we apparently forget about traumatic happenings almost as soon as they've happened, but it's all there."

"Are you saying that we are not _real_?"

Sheppard gave a mirthless laugh. "Of course we're real, in our universe. Probably real in this universe, too, somewhere, but on this world, we're played by actors. But the real question here is: how do the writers of this show know about the things we're getting up to so far away in another universe?"

George stood up, his hand raised in something that was clearly supposed to be a fist. "Because they have a Gate. No, it's more than that. They have found a way to cross over between the universes."

"Yes." Sheppard let his weary body slump back down. He had miles to go, but just for this moment, he would rest. "We have to get to where the show's created. It's our only chance of getting home."

"And where's that?"

But Sheppard said nothing, only let himself sink slowly into the greyness of sleep. Because the show was in Canada, while he and George… _No. Don't go there yet._ He and George… were not. 

"It's gonna be a long journey," he murmured, and then he slept.

******

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01-2.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02-2.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=3.jpg)[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04-2.jpg)  
___

** Yet more from the Blooper Reel **

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01blooper-2.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02blooper-2.jpg)

******

end of episode three

******

In the next thrilling episode: Images of Sheppard and the Wraith dangling from ropes; cowering in the dark; sssnnneaking. "There's someone following us," the Wraith says. "We are being hunted." Close-up on Sheppard's face; dawning realisation. Horror.


	4. Up the Beanstalk

Action figure Shep is back in another thrill-packed episode of the photo story The Long Road Home. Are you ready for the angst! the tension! the elephants!? 

Oh, and George the Wraith is there, too. He cowers. George doesn't like cats.

__

Episode four: Up the Beanstalk

"We are not alone," the Wraith said.

Sheppard groaned. "Can we leave the dramatic pronouncements until I've opened my eyes."

"You do not possess eyelids."

"You know what I mean." In his mind, it was a very good glower. Like the rest of the full repertoire of his rich interior emotional life, it probably looked exactly like a plastic smirk. He always tried to keep emotions hidden, but this was torture. _When this whole thing's over_ , he vowed suddenly, _I'm going to show my emotions a whole lot more. You don't appreciate things until they've gone._ He looked up at the sky, turning his head to the limits of its movement, searching. _You hear that? I've learnt my lesson. Can we end this now?_

Nothing changed. 

"We are not alone," George said again.

"Yes, yes." Sheppard sat up. He was wet with dew, but at least he had a wipe-clean surface. _Every cloud has a silver lining, I guess_. "Birds. Bees. Butterflies. Creepy orange slugs. _Bugs_." He tried to grimace. He hadn't seen anything too scary yet, but the thought of bugs and spiders twice as big as his head… _No, don't go there. Cross that bridge when I come to it._

"Someone is following us," George said. 

Sheppard stood up. A flower had shed pollen on him while he slept, and he looked like a bride on her wedding day. "I've suspected as much." The Wraith had his attention now.

"We are being hunted," George said. "I _hear_ him. He follows us. He watches us. He hunts us."

"Crap." Sheppard looked around, but there was no-one there. "I thought I was being paranoid. I don't suppose you could be wrong?""

The Wraith shook his head. "I know about being hunted."

"Yeah, just not on the receiving end." Sheppard thought of Ronon. "How marvellous. We're action figure Runners, and somebody else is playing the Wraith. Still…" He tried to clap his hands together, but they wouldn't reach, and he overbalanced in the attempt, and got a face full of earth. "So we stay alert. Lay traps." He stopped, hearing the sound of car doors slamming, and then an engine. Good. It was time. "Let's focus on the things we can do something about," he said. "The plan's still on, and they've just gone out."

They had waited here for the best part of a day. "They have to go out sooner or later," Sheppard had said, "and when they do, we sneak in through that little us-sized door."

"The one used by the beast with fur and teeth?" the Wraith had asked. He must have had a run-in with a cat before joining up with Sheppard. "I cannot see how we will gain from this. Much as I would like to taste the life-force of the householder and his plump children, he is not the person who made us this way."

"Reconnaissance," Sheppard had said. "Intel. The Internet told us where we need to get to, but 'where am I right now?' doesn't work as a search term. I just need to lay my hands on something – a letter with an address on, or a local paper." _Just to confirm my fears_ , he thought, and of course he would still need to lie to George about the whole Earth thing. This alliance thing only went as far as necessity, and no further. 

"Come on," he said now. Earlier, he and the Wraith had pulled off a long tendril from the climbing plant that covered the fence. Sheppard picked it up, and made for the door, wading through the unmown grass. He stopped underneath it, peering up at the surface, smeared with muddy pawprints. "It must be a giant cat with extra long legs." It was far higher above him than he could reach. "Help me," he said. "Plan A."

The Wraith moved stiffly to the edge of the flowerbed and picked up a pebble, struggling to hold it in both hands. He threw it up towards the flap, but missed. "Try again," Sheppard said. This time the pebble was smaller, and the Wraith threw it with one hand. It hit the flap, and made it open slightly inwards. At that precise moment, Sheppard threw the long leafy tendrils towards the gap, but it failed to catch. It slithered down again, and a leaf as big as Sheppard's torso knocked him from his feet, almost smothering him in green. 

"Again!" he said, when he'd freed himself. This had to work! And if it didn't… Well, he'd keep going until it did, and then there was Plan B and Plan C and Plan 9 and all the rest. If he ever got back… No, _when_ he got back he'd appreciate the little things so much more: the ability to open a door; not being almost suffocated to death when a bird crapped on you; pressing control, alt and delete at the same time; the ability to wiggle your fingers; knowing that what was beneath your pants was, well… _there._

The sixth attempt worked. Sheppard tugged at the tendril, and it remained firm. "Help me up," he commanded, and George did. Sheppard grabbed at the stem, and managed to hold on. Slowly, laboriously, he started to climb. "Like climbing a bean-stalk, huh?" he gasped. "Now I know what Jack felt like. The goose that lays the golden egg would be nice, but the giant… not so much." He struggled past a protruding leaf. Below him, George said nothing. "Never mind."

And then he was at the top, hauling himself over the lip. He sat awkwardly on the shelf. If he went through now, the tendril would fall back down again, so he had to wait until the Wraith joined him. When they were side by side, he carefully opened the flap, and teased the tendril through until half of it hung down on each side, enough to balance it. Then, and only then, did he crawl through. 

It was a long way down to the ground. He fell heavily, groaning at the impact. _All this_ , he thought, _just to get through a door_. But there was no time to nurse his injuries. Pushing himself up, he began to head across the vastness of the kitchen floor. 

"What are we looking for?" the Wraith asked. 

"I'll know it when I see it."

They passed an enormous fridge, and the vastness of a bowl of dried cat food. Far above him, as far away as the moon, was the kitchen surface. _So we're in_ , Sheppard thought. That had been the goal. What came after was… _That's the sort of thing Rodney does_ , he thought. Sheppard got them to places, then Rodney did his sciency stuff on whatever was inside, and then Sheppard got them back to the Gate after everything went south. 

_Rodney…_ God, he missed his team. _But they'll come for me_ , he thought, _unless they're…_ No, he wouldn't think that. One action figure was enough. A whole team of them… No, he couldn't think like that. If only he'd thought to check the back of the prison that was the packaging, to see what other figures were available. 

"Someone's coming," the Wraith hissed.

Sheppard snapped his head up. He looked round as sharply as he could with the limited range of movement possessed by his neck. "In here." He would have tried hand gestures, but feared they'd make him topple over.

He paused for the Wraith to get in first, then joined him, edging back into the darkness between the fridge and the nearest kitchen unit. He listened. The fridge was humming, vibrating slightly, but were those footsteps…? "Stay quiet," he whispered, and the Wraith, close behind him, whispered, "I know."

"Who are you?" a voice said loudly. 

Sheppard cursed silently. 

"Why are you hiding there? It seems… foolish."

Gun ready in his hand, Sheppard poked his head out, keeping himself low. Above him, the Wraith did the same. 

"Here," said the purple elephant. It sounded very depressed. "I'm up here. Who are you?"

Sheppard's eyes would have widened had they been able to. "You're a… you're a fridge magnet."

"It is not polite to draw attention to such things," said the elephant sadly. "You are an action figure, but I do not stare."

"I'm sorry." He was apologising to a fridge magnet. _The shrinks are never going to hear about this_. "It's just…"

"Stuck," the elephant said. "We are all stuck. That is our lot in life. We are stuck here. No-one knows why. No-one knows what purpose we have. They stick us here because sticking us here is the thing that is _done_ , and so they do it, but then they forget us. Sometimes children move us around with sticky fingers. Sometimes we are moved away to the beautiful freedom of two inches away, but our nature calls us back to this magnetic surface. This is our place. This is our lot."

"I got to three inches away once," squeaked a mouse. "It was like flying."

"We cannot even enjoy friendship or love," said the elephant, "because our poles repel. We just sit here. For year after year after year, we sit here. This is our prison."

"Oh." Sheppard tried to find something to say. "Are you going to kill us because you're, you know… jealous that we can move around?" 

"You are an action figure," said the elephant. "'Action' is the operative word. We _stick_ ; that's what magnets do. No-one can escape their lot in life. Accept it and endure, and one day the world will move on and the magnetic poles will fade away, and then this suffering will be over."

"That's a fatalistic attitude," Sheppard said. "If you don't fight–"

"We're magnets," said the elephant. "Have you ever seen a magnet with free-will? With self-determination? I fell in love with a golden ring when I was a young, but it was not meant to be. No amount of wishing could allow me to attract her. And so I am here. And so I will always be."

"Sheppard." George tapped Sheppard's shoulder. "Someone's coming inside… but there's someone outside, too."

All thought of magnets left Sheppard's mind. He'd left the tendril there, leading up to the unsealed flap, like a ladder leading their hunter right at them. And the footsteps in the house were getting louder. One, two, three, four… and then a meow.

At times of crisis, ideas came to him in a flash. "Quick!" He darted from concealment, barely hearing the envious sighs from the fridge magnets. "The kitty biscuits," he said. "Pick them up. Rattle them." He was a dog person, really, but he'd had friends with cats, and knew that they always appeared like magic at the faintest sound of food. 

The interior door was nudged open. He saw a nose, whiskers…

"You would draw the monster upon us!" George gasped.

"Not us." Sheppard threw a cat biscuit at the door. "On him. The enemy. The person hunting us." He saw the shape now at the door, loomed up – a dark shape; a terrible shape. "There, kitty," he said. "Nice kitty. Go savage the nasty man. Go now – no, not us! Over there!"

The cat looked at him. Its eyes gleamed. It was enormous, its eyes the size of Sheppard's head. "And I guess," Sheppard said, still throwing the biscuits, "that I'm tasty snack-size to you."

The was a scratching sound at the exterior door. George was cowering in fear. 

"Go!" Sheppard shouted. The enormous creature made towards him, then made towards the Wraith, then looked at the biscuits by the door, then back at Sheppard. "Nice kitty," Sheppard said. "There! Over there!"

The cat turned back to the door. The flap was open a slit now, and a dark head was beginning to edge through. Very slowly, the cat began to pad towards the door.

"We've got to push it through," Sheppard cried. The children must have been busy earlier, and variuos kitchen utensils lay on the floor. Sheppard grabbed the nearest item. "Help me."

"You would have us goad the monster?" 

"Yes! Goad away!" Sheppard hurried towards the door, and prodded the cat on the back leg. George joined in, swatting him on the tail. "I feel like a gladiator facing the lions," Sheppard said, as he thrust forward again, then one more time.

The cat leapt at the flap, and went through. From outside, there was a single scream of agony and fury. 

Sheppard let his pointy thing fall. "That was close." Inside he was far less calm than his plastic face forced him to be. "Come on. We need to get back into hiding before the cat comes back, then find a way out. It's a death trap in here."

And then he saw it. The litter tray was resting on a dirty newspaper. "Letters to the editor," he read, "should be sent to the following address." His eyes moved on, incapable of looking away.

So now he knew the truth. "We are screwed," he said, as he crept back into the gap beside the fridge. "We are so screwed."

"I told you so," said the purple elephant.

******

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03-2.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=05-1.jpg)

___

** And now the Blooper Reel **

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01blooper-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02blooper-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03blooper-1.jpg)

******

end of episode four

******

Coming soon: In episode five of The Long Road Home, Sheppard faces his deadliest challenge yet. It has TEETH!


	5. Pointy Teeth

Episode five: Pointy teeth

"I take it that being screwed is a bad thing," the Wraith said, when they had finally reached the safety of the flowers. They had been forced to wait until the people came home, and then make a run for it through the open front door. It had been a close thing – far closer than Sheppard wanted to experience again for a very long time. 

"Yes," he agreed. "Very bad."

"Then who is screwing us?" George demanded.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that." Sheppard thought for a while; wondered how much to tell him. "We need to get to a place called Canada. Trouble is, we're currently on the far side of the world, in a place called England. Worse, we appear to be on… uh…" He tried to scratch his ear, but his arm wouldn't bend that way, and instead vaguely swatted somewhere in the vicinity of his nose. "We're on an off-shore island called the Isle of Wight. I don't know exactly where that is. I only got to know war zones."

"Then we get off it."

"Yes, yes. Of course we get off, but action figures aren't famous for their swimming abilities. I've never seen them winning medals at the Olympics."

"There must be another way off," George said.

"Yes." He sat down, pulling his legs up as far as they would go, which was far more uncomfortable than he was ever going to let on. "We fly. Trouble is, small islands don't usually have international airports."

As if on cue, a plane appeared in the sky, slowly passing across the blue. It had not yet reached its full height, but was far higher than it would have been if it had taken off from anywhere nearby. Sheppard watched it. It was strange, the yearning he felt for it, even though he had never flown a plane like that, or wanted to. 

"That is a large vessel," George said, when the plane was almost gone, "and we are small."

"I can fly anything." His yearning made his voice harsh. The Wraith made an incredulous sound, clearly calculating the distance between Sheppard's plastic hands and the likely lay-out of the plane's controls. It would just need a bit of jumping. Or maybe Rodney could rig up some trolley mechanism that would allow him to slide quickly from one end of the control panel to another. If only Rodney was here with him, not a Wraith! It was an alliance of necessity, but, still… a Wraith! They were stuck in the same situation, but there would never be true understanding there, or any sort of comfort when things got bad.

"So we need to get off this island," the Wraith said.

"Yeah." Sheppard stood up. "Follow our nose. Go to the sea."

******

"What's that?" the Wraith asked, the following morning. "It looks like a fearsome beast." He had clearly not recovered from the adventure with the cat. He had babbled in his sleep, raving about furry tails and whiskers and pink triangular noses. If they lived through this, Sheppard thought, the Wraith would have a new bogeyman in its mythology. _Be good_ , Wraith children would be told, _or the fluffy kitten will get you._

Sheppard looked where the Wraith was pointing. "Oh." His body totally failed to manifest the amused relief that he felt. "It's only a rabbit."

"It looks dangerous." The Wraith was still not moving. 

"It isn't. It's a rabbit. A cute bunny. It's nothing like the Kitten of Doom," he couldn't resist adding. "They hop and eat carrots and twitch their cute little noses." His step faltered just a little bit. "Of course, things might be different when we're seven inches high and the bunny is taller than us. But it won't savage us, not unless we paint ourselves orange and pretend to be a carrot, and I don't think my acting skills are up to that. A parsnip, maybe…"

"Well, if you are sure." The Wraith started walking again, clearly edgy.

"It could be useful," Sheppard said. The rabbit hadn't moved. "Our trusty steed. I had a horse when I was a kid. Time to put all those lessons to good use. Rabbits move _fast_." He remembered his one and only trip to England, driving along unnervingly small country roads, and seeing them littered with squashed wild rabbits. "As long as we're ready to eject," he added.

The rabbit remained still. Sheppard reached it, and touched it. "Help me up," he said. It required a bit of clambering, and he was hampered by the fact that his legs wouldn't part at all – didn't even appear to possess the joints that made such movement capable – but he managed it. "Hi ho, Silver!" he cried.

"I am not called Silver," the rabbit replied.

"Crap." Sheppard tried to dismount, but was hampered by not having properly moveable knees. "Does everything talk around here? Do we have talking silverware to look forward to in the future."

" _I_ talk." The rabbit's voice was strangely muffled, as if it was keeping its mouth shut. 

"Yeah. I can tell." He managed to slither off the rabbit's back, but his legs were still set in his mounted position, and he fell flat on his face, sinking slightly into the soft earth. At least his hair was set in place, and couldn't get mussed. _Got to be grateful for small mercies_. There was no need to spend money on hair-care products, either.

"I told you it was a beast," the Wraith said.

"It's still a bunny," Sheppard said, as he struggled upright. "It's not going to eat us. It hasn't got the body parts." Upright at last, he turned back to the rabbit just in time to see it opening its mouth. "Uh… Scratch that." 

The teeth closed around his body, just above the waist. He turned his head desperately, and smashed with his pistol at whatever he could reach, deep inside the rabbit's throat. Teeth dug into his shoulder and his back and his waist, and it hurt, oh God, it hurt, but he kept on struggling, striking out with his fist and his pistol, and was dimly aware of the Wraith shouting, somewhere far away.

Just as he thought he was going to die, the rabbit spat him out again. "What was that about?" Sheppard gasped, as soon as he was able. "You're a _rabbit_."

"A vicious plot bunny," the rabbit said. "That was what my last owner called me. But she always made me jump to her tune, so I escaped. I went rogue. I am now a rogue plot bunny. Nobody tells me what to do."

"Plot…" He swallowed. "Bunny. This… this is crazy. Your teeth…! They're… they're soft fabric, and I'm made of hard plastic. There's no way you should be able to bite me. There's no way it should hurt like a bitch."

"Plot bunnies," the rabbit said stiffly, "do not have to follow any normal laws of logic. If we want to hurt our target, we hurt them. Mere laws of physics and other universal constants do not trouble us."

"That's cheating," Sheppard protested. 

"Of course." The plot bunny looked almost flattered by the accusation. It raised one ear in a manner that reminded Sheppard of the way Rodney raised a finger. "Plot coming on," it said. "Come, my minions!"

Sheppard looked nervously around, readying himself to defend himself. Suddenly, out of a clear air, descended a flight of slightly confused looking hummingbirds. They poked at him with their serrated beaks, drawing blood. He raised his hands, tried to keep them away, but the nearest one laughed, green poison dripping from its razor sharp break. Incredibly agony speared through Sheppard's body as the beak impaled him, and…

"See?" said the plot bunny. The birds were gone as quickly as they had come. Sheppard tried to touch his chest, but his hand couldn't quite reach. The beak had gone right through! But he was plastic! And surely hummingbirds didn't carry _poison_ …! "That was a good one." the bunny said with satisfaction.

"No it wasn't," Sheppard said firmly. The agony was only slowly abating. 

"Oh, there's plenty more where that came from," the bunny said. "I was the _best_. My owner won _prizes_ for the creativity of her plots. What about this one?"

Sheppard suddenly found himself collapsing to the ground. He knew he couldn't go on, knew he would die here. "Sheppard!" The Wraith couldn't kneel, of course, because his stiff plastic jacket was too long for him to bend his legs, but he looked across the place where Sheppard lay. 

Should he tell him, Sheppard thought. If he was going to die here, should he tell the Wraith everything he knew about the geography of Earth in order to give him a chance to get back home? If he didn't, his team would never know what had happened to him. If he did, he could ask the Wraith to carry final messages to his team. "If you make it," he gasped, "tell them…" But, no! Then the Wraith would know that this was Earth, and would know how to find it. He didn't know what to do, and life was leaving him. To trust, or not to trust…?

"See?" The bunny's voice was bright. "That was Angst."

Sheppard pushed himself to his feet again. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

"Plot bunnies can never be silenced," the bunny said. "They come upon you in the dead of night, and there is _nothing_ you can do to stop them. Of course–" Its eyes glittered in the sun. "–I'm a _vicious_ plot bunny. Would you rather have met a smutty plot bunny? I'm sure there are lots of creative ways to persuade the two of you to–"

"We're not listening," Sheppard announced. He didn't dare look at the Wraith.

"The bunny made us do it," the rabbit finished, speaking in irritating quotes. "We plot bunnies are behind _everything_. Didn't you see that James Bond movie – the one with the super-villain who stroked a white cat? It was a bunny, really, wearing a cat suit. Plots for world domination are nothing without a plot bunny. There is one behind your current predicament, of course."

"What?" Sheppard surged forward, heedless of the agony. "Where?"

"Oh, not like that." The rabbit flicked its ears. "There's still a nemesis out there; the bunny's just whispering in his ear. Or hers." It shrugged. "I don't know. I just dish out the whump. It's a gift. I was wasted in my first job – seen as nothing but a set of sharp teeth, just having to tear out people's throats. Where's the creativity in that?"

"Why do you have sharp teeth, anyway?" Sheppard couldn't resist asking. "I'm no zoologist, but I'm sure that bunnies normally… don't."

"Don't you recognise me?" The bunny stood a little taller, moving into a beam of sunlight. "Nasty sharp pointy teeth. 'We are the knights who say Ni!'. I'm not dead yet!'" It tilted its head. "Anything?"

Sheppard shook his head. Behind his back, he made urgent gestures with his hand.

"I'm being repressed? She's a witch? No?" It sighed stiffly. "What about this one: Nobody expect the Spanish Inquisition. The dead parrot. Oh, and the song: Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."

It started to sing. The whistling was not very tuneless, hampered by teeth and fabric.

Sheppard turned to the Wraith. "Run away!" he hissed. The rabbit's singing grew louder. "Run away!" Sheppard pushed George in the back, shoving him on. "Run away!"

Running was hard. The agony from the bunny's attack was slow to leave him, and Sheppard knew he wouldn't make it far before he collapsed. All he had to do was make it far enough. 

From behind him, ever further away, came the sound of the bunny's singing: 

"If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten, and that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing."

_If only it was that easy_ , he thought, as his legs failed, and he fell to the ground. He struggled to raise himself, but it was beyond him. He sank towards the darkness, as far away, the rabbit sang:

"For life is quite absurd  
And death's the final word  
You must always face the curtain with a bow.  
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin  
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow."

He couldn't even grin, because his face was plastic, and his points of articulation couldn't cope with bowing. He heard the Wraith call his name, but after that there was only nothing.

******

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=00.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01-4.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02-4.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04-4.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=05-2.jpg) ** And now for the Blooper Real **

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01blooper-4.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02blooper-4.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03blooper-2.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04blooper.jpg)

******

In next week's thrilling episode: Images of Sheppard looking broken in the rain. Fast-paced images of confusion and fighting. "You're dead, Sheppard," George says. Sheppard screams.


	6. Dead Again

Action figure Shep (and George) return yet again in another thrill-packed adventure. This time they contend with unseasonal elements, and die many, many times, while not wearing many clothes.

Episode six: Dead Again

The first thing he became aware of was extreme cold. He tried to move, sluggishly trying to get away from the cold, but he had no feeling in his limbs. _Huh_ , he thought. Even the fear was sluggish. _I'm an action figure_. Action figures couldn't die of hypothermia. Plastic hands couldn't get frostbite. _I'll just sleep…_

He tried to fade away, tried to sink into the whiteness, but something started pressing against his chest. Dimly, as if from far away, he heard a voice. "Sheppard," it said. "Sheppard. Wake up."

"Go away," he mumbled, but the pressure increased. Pressure on his chest. A hand. A Wraith!

He sat up, suddenly finding the way to move his body, after all. "Get away from me!"

"I was not trying to feed on you, Sheppard." George looked disgusted. "Look." He showed Sheppard the palm of his hand. Sheppard peered closer – even his vision was bleary – and wasn't sure at first what he was supposed to be looking at. Then he realised.

"Oh. No feeding slit."

"No feeding slit." George shook his head. 

"Huh. That sucks."

"On the contrary, it does not." The Wraith looked at him, tilting his head slightly. "Wraith humour."

"Huh. Very funny." He concentrated on talking; it was that or succumb to the cold. "Why would an artist create an action figure of a Wraith without one of the main things that makes you a Wraith?" 

"I suspect he missed out of the main things that you consider makes you a man," George said, "judging from all those anxious looks you make at the place down there, beneath your–"

"But we weren't created by artists," Sheppard said firmly. "We're human. Leastways, I'm human, and we have to get home." He looked around, fully registering his surroundings for the first time. "Snow?"

"It is dangerously deep."

"Yeah. Must be two inches at least." George was submerged to his knees. Sheppard had been lying down in it, and there was no part of him untouched by snow. He could feel it melting on his cheeks, on his lips. "Seriously, though: snow? Maybe my heat sense is shot to pieces because I'm plastic right now, but wasn't it warm yesterday? Birds, butterflies, flowers…?"

It was almost enough to make him believe the whole thing was a dream. Summer one day; winter the next. This couldn't happen in real life. It had to be a dream… But, no. If it was a dream, then the whole thing was a product of his own subconscious. _Nobody_ could be so strange as to come up with talking fridge magnets – depressed fridge magnets, no less – even in their subconscious. Something so deranged had to be true.

"We need to get somewhere warmer," George said. "I was concerned about you. You would not awaken."

"It's that damn plot bunny." Now that he was moving, the numbness was receding, revealing the lingering pain. "He really did a number on me." He recognised the truth, though. Perhaps action figures couldn't get frostbite, but it did seem as if he could drift away to a place that was difficult, if not impossible, to return from. He had to get somewhere warmer. He had to get somewhere where he could rest and recover. "I'll be fine, though," he said, because it wasn't advisable to show weakness in front of a Wraith, even if his feeding slit had somehow been omitted during artistic development. 

They set out, slowly wading through snow that came up to their knees. It was hard going, and fresh snow started to fall, each flake half as big as his hand. One landed on his cheek, and he flinched at the sudden cold. He could feel them melting in his hair, drenching him. 

"Where…?" he gasped, realising that George was leading. "Where're we going?"

"Shelter."

The Wraith was leading. He was following the Wraith. All along, throughout their adventure, it had been the other way round. He had been the one with the plan. The Wraith had been the one who had cowered at every kitten and not known where the back space key was. Now the situation was reversed. Did it matter? Did… it… mat…?

He stumbled and fell, snow encasing him to his shoulders. So easy to stay here. So easy to stay. No. No. Had to get up up. Had to carry on. But the cold dragged him down, and the pain beneath it – the strength stolen away from him by the plot bunny. 

_Got to…_ he thought. _Got to…_ He managed to stand. The Wraith was looking at him, on the point of coming back for him, its face looking almost dark against the snow. "I'm fine," Sheppard said, flapping his hand. "Carry on."

They walked on. When Sheppard turned round, he saw their foosteps, side by side in the snow. They passed into the shelter of a wall, and his whole word became about putting one foot in front of the other, about enduring the cold, about not giving in, not falling…

They ducked under a gate, and headed through a forest of snow-covered flowers. A bird started up from a shrub, darkening the sky with its passage, and dislodged snow fell down in an enormous avalanche. It struck him on his head and his shoulders, driving him to his knees, and then more snow fell, and he was covered, drowning, entombed in white, and there was nothing around him with icy coldness – nothing at all.

******

He woke up to screaming. _Got to help_ , he thought, but everything about him was sluggish. It was warm this time, though, and he felt almost safe, his limbs pleasantly distant, his body content. 

Another scream, followed by a crash and a bellow. Sheppard sat up, pushing off the corner of a blanket that looked suspiciously like a Kleenex. "What…?" He reached for his pistol, wrapping stiff fingers around it. Even though it was plastic and wouldn't fire, it just felt better to have it in his hand. "What's happening?"

"I keep on dying," the Wraith snarled. 

"Oh. That's… uh… interesting." Wherever he was, it was dark, lit only by a flickering light. As he looked around, the light grew more garish, and George started muttering under his breath. 

A moment later, George screamed again. "Dead! I always die!"

Proper focus was slow to return. He saw the flickering light, then George's back, then…

"You're playing a console game," he said. 

"I appear to be controlling that fighter on the screen." George sounded as if he was forcing the words through gritted teeth. "I give him commands using this device, but the other fighter keeps killing mine."

"Yeah, I know how it works." 

They were inside, he realised, in a room littered with discarded books and magazines. The floor was dirty; you really noticed dirt when you were seven inches high, it seemed. A slice of cold pizza was slowly going mouldy on a plate pushed beneath the couch. 

"How did I get here?" he wondered.

"I found this refuge," the Wraith said, his mind clearly on other things. "I carried you in. It was quite an adventure, fraught with much danger."

He told the tale, his voice a monotone, interspersed with cries of fury when he died. Sheppard lay back against the carpet, and his mind drifted into the familiar fuzziness that he knew well as the aftermath of serious illness. "…braided together blades of grass," George was saying. "… enlisted the help of…" Flickering lights on the ceiling, calling him to sleep. "…it had much to say. It talked for many minutes, and I was concerned that you would… said it was no plot bunny, but a chocolate one, doomed to be eaten… wouldn't come inside, scared of the heat. Not again! I've died again!"

Sheppard shifted position, telling himself he should probably wake up. "… too heavy for us to carry, and my arms wouldn't bend… Cecil came back with friends… used the sugar eggs as rollers… Nigel helped."

"Nigel?" he murmured.

"… had to invent a whole new technology…. said he was a pencil eraser… and then an even more fearsome creature than the dreadful kitten… ran off with you, then brought you back… seemed to want me to throw you for him to fetch… then Annie… winged creatures with beaks… we detonated the curry powder and… finally we were in, and here we are."

"Yeah." The memories were already fading, stolen by the urge to sleep. He sat up again. "So you found an open door and brought me in. Where's the person who lives here?"

"Asleep," George said. "There are many empty cans that once held foul-smelling poisoned liquid all around him."

"Beer," Sheppard realised. He stood up, wrapping the Kleenex arozund him, and wandered over to George. The television's sound was off, and there were plenty of places they could hide if they heard the human moving. "Up for another game?"

It required two of them to plug the second controller in, but they managed it. Sheppard didn't recognise the game on the screen so far above him, but it seemed like a standard fighting game, when two warriors in fantastical clothing tried to beat the crap out of each other using bizarre weapons. 

"You are playing a female?" George said in surprise.

Sheppard shrugged stiffly. "Better eye candy."

They fought for a few seconds, but Sheppard soon realised the problem. Using the controller was a whole body endeavour, and he just wasn't big enough to do it properly. His fighter moved stiffly, slowly. He parried, then had to plunge across the controller to try to land a blow. _Figures_ , he thought, in frustration. He was trapped in a body that refused to work properly, and which kept depositing him face first in the dirt. He couldn't even enjoy the escapism of controlling a half-naked warrior woman.

"It should not be possible to fight in clothes like that," George said, after a moment's mesmerised silence. "Are… features like that _real_ in your species?"

"The animator has put a lot of work into making them move," Sheppard said, then he shied back. "Whoa! That was alarming."

"Why does the female warrior not topple over from the weight?"

"Because she's not real?" Sheppard froze, hand over the controls. "She isn't, is she? You haven't had long and interesting conversations with her?" After the Lego Liberation front and the depressed fridge magnets, he supposed anything was possible. "I still respect you as a woman," he said loudly, just in case. "I'm sure the violet hot-pants are very stylish."

The half-naked woman did not reply. It was probably best that way.

They resumed the fight, neither of them managing to land any real blows, except by accident. With great physical effort, Sheppard managed to take a tenth of his opponent's health off, but when he attempted to follow the advantage up, he slipped and fell off the controller. By the time he recovered himself, George had just managed to turn his character around. 

"This isn't working," Sheppard said, when the doomed fight had last ten minutes. 

"No."

"We need to work together," he said. "One of us take one side of the controller, and one the other."

"We can do that?"

He felt as if he was coming back to life again – back in control, back making the plans. "Of course we can. If we fight separately, we fail, but if we join forces and work together…"

"Nothing can stand against us." The Wraith's eyes were gleaming. "Except for kittens," he added.

"Don't see no kittens here," Sheppard said. "Come on, George, let's kick the computer's ass."

And they did.

******

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01-5.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02-5.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03-4.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04-5.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=05-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=06-1.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=07.jpg) **And now for the blooper reel**

[](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=01blooper-5.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=02blooper-5.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=03blooper-3.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=04blooper-1.jpg) [](http://s25.photobucket.com/albums/c76/ladyofastolat/?action=view&current=05blooper.jpg)

******

end of episode six

******

Note: The trailer for episode six implied that Sheppard would be struggling through the rain. This was indeed the plan, but when snow suddenly appeared totally unexpectedly in the middle of a warm and sunny spring, I had to take advantage of it and rewrite the script.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And at this point, the show was cancelled. However, a leaked copy of the overall plan for the series revealed that in episode 53, Sheppard and the Wraith would jump over a giant cuddly shark. The series would continue to run for 150 more episodes, and would all end happily. Not that anyone would care by then.


End file.
